


Point of No Return

by Nemainofthewater



Series: Timeship Week 2019 [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Gen, Hades and Persephone AU, RipFic, Timeship Week 2019, Until it isn't, everything is lovely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 11:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20308762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Hades and Persephone AU. Gideon makes a new friend.





	Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Timeship Week 2019-Day 2: AU day.

Rip hummed absently as he went about his work, patting the earth down firmly around the seedlings. The green shoots looked incredibly small and fragile, but they would survive. They were hardy like that, and they needed more space than he could give them. Even if they did die, then they decompose and in so doing release their nutrients back into the soil and allow other plants to grow. Still, Rip hoped that these ones survived. As God of Spring, he was supposed to be impartial and to love all growing things equally, but…he did have a soft spot for those that Jonas grew for him.

Speaking of which… Rip spun around and scooped the young boy up in his arms to laughing protests. Gods, he was getting so big.

“What’s this?” he said, “Has a brave warrior come to slay me?”

Jonas giggled, the sunlight catching in his hair and turning it to gold. “No!” he said, “I’ve come to steal your treasure.”

“A treasure hunter!” Rip crowed,” Well we can’t have that. I’m quite fond of my treasure, I’m afraid. In any case, it isn’t ready to be harvested yet. No, I think that we shall have to come to another compromise, young warrior.”

Jonas smiled up at him and immediately declared: “Cake!”

“Cake?” Rip repeated, amused.

Jonas nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “Honey and pistachio.”

“Well,” Rip said, pretending to consider it, “I suppose honey and pistachio cake is suitably gold…”

“Rip!” came another voice from behind him, and he turned to smile at Miranda. She looked as beautiful as the day he had met her, but to his disquiet he noticed that there were faint lines around her mouth and eyes, proof of a life well lived. A mortal life well lived. He swallowed the wave of sadness that rose in him. He knew that she was mortal, had known it from the moment that he met her, but he didn’t like being confronted with the fact. Didn’t like the fact that mortal lives passed so quickly.

Miranda had known, of course, she always was smarter. Better at thinking of the consequences, of the long-term repercussions that came with relationships between the mortal and the divine. It was one of the reasons that they weren’t still together despite their deep and ever-abiding love: it would be cruel to both of them. Still, Rip treasured the moments that he was able to snatch with her and Jonas, carefully pressing and preserving the memories in his mind in preparation for the centuries ahead of him. 

“Miranda,” he said, planting a large, dramatic kiss on her lips to the disgust of their son. With a mischievous look in her eyes she leaned in and planted another kiss on top of Jonas’ head. Who promptly pouted, shaking his head back and forth: “Eeeeew.”

“I’m afraid that’s the price that must be paid for cake,” Rip said.

“Fine,” Jonas said, such a resigned look on his face that Rip and Miranda couldn’t help laughing. He gestured imperiously, and first Miranda and then Rip gravely presented their cheeks to be kissed, a deed that was accomplished with all the solemnity of a sacred rite.

“Cake now?” Jonas asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Miranda said, “I think that you’ve earned it.”

“You go ahead,” Rip said, carefully transferring Jonas into Miranda’s hands, then brushing the dirt off his chiton, “I have a few more things I have to finish up first.”

“Wait!” Jonas said, scrambling down from his mother’s arms. He ran over to the seedlings and, dropping to his knees, he whispered to them softly before running back over and grabbing his mother’s hand.

“What was that?” Miranda asked.

“I’m helping daddy,” Jonas said, “I’m making sure that his plants grow properly!” He started to drag Miranda back toward their home: “Cake now,” he demanded and dragged her off.

Rip laughed and waved them off. Well. He was definitely going to have to make sure these plants didn’t die now. Perhaps a little ambrosia…

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but your son is adorable.”

Rip definitely did not jump in shock. But he would admit that he was slightly flustered when he turned to the woman who had crept up on him, not even trying to hide her amusement. Wearing a richly dyed blue cloak over her simple white chiton, her dark eyes sparkling in laughter, and the sunlight picking out the highlights in her dark hair, Rip rather felt like he had been hit over the head with Heracles’ club.

“Thank you,” he managed to stammer out, “I think so too.” And then because he couldn’t help himself, he said: “I’m Rip.”

If anything, the woman looked even more amused.

“Yes,” she said, “I know.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me?”

“The God of Spring? Yes, you’re rather memorable. The, er-” she gestured at his head, “The flower crown helped.”

To his horror, Rip could feel a blush rising in his cheeks, as he self-consciously raised his hand to check that yes, his crown was still on his head. It was beautiful thing, made of ever-living flowers and vines that entwined themselves in his hair and released a sweet-smelling scent. It was, he had to admit, rather memorable.

“Of course,” he said to fill the silence, “I-That. That makes sense.”

There was a silence and the woman made no attempt to fill it.

“And you are?” Rip finally asked, once he had mastered his traitorous body.

The woman smiled at him: “Gideon.”

“Gideon?”

“Yes.”

“Just…Gideon?”

“Yes.”

She was enjoying this, Rip realised. Enjoying being enigmatic and infuriating. Despite himself, he felt a protective fury rise within. This was a woman who had seen Jonas. Seen his son. If he didn’t know who she was, who she wanted…how could he protect his family?

“You’re not going to give me anything more than that,” he said flatly, “Just your name.”

“That’s correct,” Gideon said.

“Why not?” he demanded, “What have you done that’s so terrible that you can’t even tell me who you are?” Sensing weakness, he pressed forward: “Tell me!”

A brief shadow passed over her face, like a cloud across the sun. And then suddenly, Rip could feel a prickling across his exposed skin, instincts shouting at his to leave, to flee while he had the chance. The sweetness of his flowers became sicklier, over-sweet and prickled at his nose, making him sneeze. There was a pounding in his ears, faster and faster until he couldn’t think or feel or fear anything other than the THUMP THUMP of his heartbeat. 

Half-instinct and half desperate panic, Rip allowed his own power to rise in him, bringing forth the feel of sunlight-warmed skin, the joy of dancing in an April shower, the smell of rich dirt being turned over in preparation for the year’s seed stock, carefully preserved over the winter, full of potential and hope.

He took a deep breath and he couldn’t smell anything but the spring flowers of his crown.

“Generally,” Gideon said, voice quiet as she watched his struggle, “People don’t care to associate with me once they know who I am.”

“You’re the Goddess of Death,” Rip said, voice hoarse. There was no one else that he knew of with such power. No one apart from his father, Druce Lord of the Skies and leader of Olympus.

“I am,” she said, and there was power in her voice. If Rip concentrated, he could hear the wails of the lamenters echoing behind her words, and he shuddered. Despite himself, he took a step away from Gideon: he didn’t want to think about the mortality of his family, didn’t want to imagine Miranda’s body laid out in the family tomb, didn’t want to think about the short span of years that would pass before Jonas himself was being laid to rest. And through it all, Rip himself would be remain unchanging, left with nothing but his fragile memories until those too faded into time.

“See,” Gideon said, and she was now nothing more than a sad young woman, all the power faded from her voice, “I told you that people don’t generally want me around once they know who I am.”

Rip opened his mouth, possibly to ask Gideon to leave him and his family alone, possibly to apologise for pushing. What came out however…

“Do you like cake?”

Gideon blinked up at him, clearly as perplexed as he was by the question.

“What?”

“Do you like cake?” Rip repeated, wondering faintly whether he was going crazy. One did not simply ask the God of Death to tea. But…at least the question had removed the remote and lonely look in her eyes.

“I…yes?”

“Specifically honey and pistachio cake?”

“Honey cake is my favourite. What are you-”

“Then,” Rip said, daring to cut her off, “Would you care to join us? I’m sure that Jonas and Miranda would love to meet you, and I did make enough cake to feed the assembled armies of Sparta. You’d be doing me a favour, really: there’s only so much cake a being can eat, no matter what Jonas says.”

Gideon laughed and the last of the darkness dissipated into the warm spring air.

“In that case,” she declared, “You clearly need my help.”

And, taking Rip’s hand, she dragged him toward home and family and cake.

(“Please,” he said, “Please. You have to help me.”

She touched his hand gently: “You know there’s nothing I can do,” she said, “I can’t break the Law. Not even for you.”

He stood, angrily brushing her hand away.

“Then what good are you!”

She recoiled at his accusation, hurt rising within her despite herself.

“That’s not fair,” she said quietly, “I- You now that I loved Miranda and Jonas just as much as you. You know that I mourned their passing. But I can’t make exceptions. Not even for you.”

He stood silently, shoulders curled inward and trembling with a deep, repressed, emotion.

“But it’s my fault,” he said, “They had years left ahead of them, decades of life. If the Nosoi hadn’t-”

“Nobody can control where the Nosoi wander,” she said urgently.

“My father can! He denies it, but I know that he is the one behind it. I can sense his machinations even now… I spent too much time with them. I brought them to his attention, and now they’re-”

“Gone,” she finished quietly when it became clear that he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, continue.

“Don’t you see though?” she asked, rising and gathering him gently against her, holding his trembling body in hers. Holding the pieces of him together. “If I interfere in your father’s divine will, then I could provoke a civil war! Olympian against Olympian, death and carnage untold. I can’t, Rip. Not even for you.”

With a deep shudder he collapsed against her, and she guided them both down to the floor.

“Please,” he whispered, “There has to be something you can do. Please. I’ll do anything.”

She paused.

“Do you mean that?” she asked, and her voice was not that of his friend but that of the God of Death. Vast and unknowing.

“Yes,” he said staring into her eyes, “Anything.”

She swallowed deeply. And pressed something into his hands.

“There are older laws than Druce,” she said quietly, “But they require sacrifice.”

She pushed something into his hand carefully, curling his fingers around it.

“Think on it carefully,” she whispered into his hair, “And if you agree to the terms, then make sure that you are walking in the meadow three hours past daybreak. Just-make sure that it’s what you want.”

And, warning delivered, she rose. With one benediction, pressed to the top of his head, she left.

Alone, he sat. Pondering. A broken God, tightly clutching a ripe pomegranate.)

**Author's Note:**

> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
